


The Black Cat Club Proudly Presents...

by ConsultingHound



Category: The Watchmaker of Filigree Street - Natasha Pulley
Genre: 1920s AU, Bar fights, M/M, Thaniel already works at the Foreign Office, Why must I create OCs I love?, allusions to sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:33:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24596080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingHound/pseuds/ConsultingHound
Summary: Thaniel gets a new gig at The Black Cat bar and is just happy to have something to do with his evening.  However, when he intervenes in a bar fight to save a handsome stranger, he gets more than he bargains for...
Relationships: Keita Mori/Thaniel Steepleton
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	The Black Cat Club Proudly Presents...

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: contains generally dicking around in terms of knowledge of the 1920s, synesthesia, and these guys ability to communicate with each other. Might be OOC as I’ve never written these two before, and writing in a new fandom is always tricky, but we’ll see how we go. Has been glanced over but not properly edited because I live life on the edge. Comments and kudos are, as ever, highly appreciated.

There was a new pianist at the bar. 

This was not a surprise. He had seen it, as the decision solidified in place this afternoon, but there was a difference between knowing a thing and seeing it. Knowing of someone's existence and meeting them. Especially  _ this  _ someone. 

Because this person, this musician, was going to save his life, and in return, he was going to save his. 

He just didn’t know it yet.

***

Thaniel was experiencing something of A Day. 

It had started out normally and all things, including the weather, were stunningly average, until he turned the corner towards Westminster. 

His usual route to work was blocked by a motorcar incident, with a man trapped under the front end, meaning he obviously needed to stop and help by cajoling several passers-by into helping him lift said car, which led to a very tense incident with the owner of said car who had clearly knocked over the poor man, and then a stop by the police station to explain what he was doing and why Mr Hatherworth (the owner of the car) had a bleeding nose, which meant by the time he managed to leave the station and arrive at work, he was insufferably late, was reprimanded and forced to work through his lunch hour. 

Luckily his translation work was not insufferably dull at the moment and he rather lost himself in it, allowing the background noise of the office to smooth into calming, swirling patchwork. 

“Steepleton!” Crimson. This suggested this was not the first time his name had been called. 

He turned to find an annoyed looking Arthur Martin glaring at him. “Someone here to see you.”

There was a flash of panic that the police had come to charge him, so he was relieved when Sparky slipped through the door instead. The kid was barely 17 and dressed hyper-aware of the fact. His suspenders and ratty waistcoat stood out among Thaniel’s tightly suited colleagues, but he moved across the room quickly, clutching his hat as if the other secretaries were simply waiting for a moment to lunge at it. 

“What are you doing here?” Thaniel asked as soon as he got close enough. He made sure to shuffle his work out of sight. It was unlikely Sparky knew Russian but unlikely didn’t mean impossible when it came to that boy. 

“Yeah, hello to you too. Jonesy sent me didn’t he?” the boy said, eyeing up Dorian Cartwright on the desk next to him. 

“Sorry. Hello.” He shouldn’t have paused between sorry and hello. 

“Whatever,” Sparky said, rolling his eyes. “You free tonight?”

It was slightly sad he didn’t have to think about it. “Believe so.”

“Great. Buchanan’s out sick at Black Cat so we need someone at the box to get things rolling and you know no good canaries are out there this late.”

He wanted to ask where Sparky picked up all the latest vocabulary. Was there a newsletter of some kind? Could they create a new dictionary? Surely translators had enough trouble without having to unpick their mother tongue as well. 

However, what he actually said was: “Of course. What time?” 

Sparky moved backwards, towards the doors while answering. “Be there at 8. None of that fuddy old stuff either, Jonesy said.” 

“Tell Jonesy he shouldn’t ask me to play if he doesn’t like it.” Though telling the owner of several bars in London  _ not  _ to hire him was perhaps not his best career move. 

“He said you’d say something like that. And he said that if you want paying for playing you’ll do what he says,” Sparky smirked. 

Thaniel would later think of several excellent lines to say after this. Unfortunately, before his brain could produce any of them, Sparky had slipped out the room and disappeared back into his natural habitat. For the rest of the afternoon, there were several glances in his direction. There were already those concerned about letting a ruffian like himself into the office, and today had already compounded their belief that this was the first step in the Foreign Office being overrun by every dewdropper, lollygagger, and boozehound in England. (Okay, maybe he had been listening to Sparky too much). 

Several hours later, he was sat in the back right-hand corner of the dance floor, which Jonesy optimistically described as a ‘stage’ and Thaniel described as a ‘safety hazard’, squashed between the piano and the wall. He’d never played at this particular bar before, his style considered more suited to the elegant afternoon dances and luncheons at the tea places down the road. However, there was something joyous in letting go of that decorum and letting the colours patchwork, choosing to blend from green to blue to purple, the next song a riot of blossoming pinks. 

People whirled round the floor, clutching at each other and leaping away to the steps of the latest dance craze that would seem out-dated by next month but right now seemed the cutting edge of modernity. There was an underlying roar he had to match and beat, the sound of people talking, laughing, shouting, clamouring to be heard. The balcony, where the actual bar resided, was packed, patrons leaning over the flimsy bannister to watch the chaos below. 

Thaniel tried to tune most of it out to but couldn’t help glancing round every so often, gauging people’s reactions. He would know if he fucked up massively because Sparky would be over like a shot and the young man was yet to appear to even glare at him. This would have nothing to do with the pretty Sasha twins Sparky had been mooning over appearing at the bar of course. 

It was a lovely coincidence Thaniel had happened to run into them on his way over. 

After an hour, he was allowed by another of Jonesy’s teenage battalion to cede his coveted position at the worst stage in all London to the next act. There was a generous applause for him and he was glad he was already sweating so no one could see him blush. A microphone was produced and a glamorous woman called Mirabel materialised, with a voice of velvety navy and the presence of a Hollywood actress.

Intrigued, and with nowhere better to go, he decided to stick around to watch and listen, so headed towards the bar. This was easier said than done, as to get to the main stairs, he had to move through the crowd to the right of the main door, up the stairs, and then back along to the bar. It reminded him of swimming in the sea, aged 10, on the singular, glorious time they’d gone to the seaside. He adopted a similar strategy then as he did now, namely, letting the flow pull him in one direction for a while, battling when necessary to get back on course. In fact, in the time it took for him to reach the safety boat that was the bar, the bartender had spotted him coming and had a tumbler ready, which was gratefully received. He leaned on the bannister while he drank and surveyed the crowd. Some people came up and said they’d enjoyed his show, to which he awkwardly thanked them for their thanks, but for the most part he was left alone, just another guy in a room full of other guys. It was this anonymity that allowed him to spot what happened next. 

He’d finished his drink, and then another, and went looking for Jonesy to pick up his money and leave. The owner tended to keep in his office, which was just behind the bar, near an off-limits set of stairs which ran to the other side of the dance floor. As he went to knock on the door, he heard raised voices from the bottom of the stairwell.

“Don’t you fucking lie to me. You think I wouldn’t hit you? I’ll fucking hit you. Then I’ll do a damn sight worse than that.”

What he should have done was go get help.

What he should have done was knock on Jonesy’s door and told him he was going to have a fight on his hands. 

What he did was slowly creep down the stairs.

Two brutish looking men had cornered a third at the bottom of the stairwell, one blocking the way up the stairs, the other blocking the way out through the ground floor. The guy in the middle had his back to Thaniel, but even so his posture didn’t suggest he was bothered by the situation. Instead he calmly responded. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Although not the point, Thaniel couldn’t help noticing he had a lovely voice. 

“You don’t know what-,” the guy who had been threatening him laughed humorlessly, then grabbed the man by his arm and thrust him face-first up against the wall. “You listen here,  _ buddy _ ,” he spat. “If you don’t start playing ball and give me my fucking money back, we’re going to start having a real big problem.”

Thaniel willed the other man not to respond.

“It would seem we already have a problem.”

Fucking hell. 

“You’re awful confident for someone outnumbered.” 

“Am I?” 

At this, the thugs looked round and Thaniel realised, for better or worse, he was very much  _ involved  _ in this situation now. He drew up to his full height and began walking down the stairs. No one at the bottom moved. 

“Let him go,” Thaniel said. 

“Excuse me?”

“I said, Let. Him. Go.” He emphasised every word with another step. 

“Yeah? And what are you going to do about it pal?” the talker asked, while the silent one walked towards him. 

Thaniel wanted to pride himself on only being violent as a last resort. However, after a lifetime of playground fights and amateur boxing, having someone invade your space set off something in him that demanded he get out of that situation as quickly as possible, and claimed the only way was through throwing a punch. 

The walker (Attacker 2 as he labelled him) tried to grab his arm but he ducked out the way, and managed to spin so he was now in between the two attackers. Using the distraction, the man who was pinned to the wall shoved and broke free from the man, running to the crowd. Attacler 1 followed him, Thaniel followed the attacker, and the Attacker 2 followed Thaniel. It was like a bloody farce. But then the man running stopped, and they all fell into one another. Attacker 2 made another grab at him, and this time succeeded. There was a wrenching sensation in his arm as he was pulled back. He used the momentum to swing his free fist into the assailants face. Attacker 2 was clearly surprised at this, but not enough to let go of him. Instead, it prompts him to try and punch Thaniel back, like a child’s fight where you’re only allowed to copy the move your opponent did. When this didn’t work, he began to kick at him, trying to get him into a headlock. Thaniel went into defence mode, dodging as much as he could while he only had one arm free. He tried to use the momentum to cause Attacker 2 to fall on the floor. 

What he hadn’t quite realised was that, as the other man fell, so did he. 

Those around them who noticed the start of the brawl began shrieking and the hysteria soon carried around the room, people scattering out the way as the brawl escalated. Thaniel had lost track of the other men, didn’t know if they were still there or had disappeared. All he knew was he had to get this psychopath off of him. When they’d fallen, they’d twisted, so Attacker 2 was essentially spooning him from behind, one arm locked around his throat, a leg twisted round his. However, his arms had finally been released. He elbowed the man, shoving it sharp into his solar plexus, winding him, then kicked out with his legs and scrambled free. He launched up to his feet, only to see the other man headbutting Attacker 1, knocking him to the ground. 

He quickly reassessed what he had been thinking about the man: it seemed mild-mannered, sheltered, presumably belonging to the same world as his colleagues no longer fit. Instead, what he now could see was that he knew how to handle himself in a fight, older than he had realised, and was clearly the most beautiful man in the known universe (and perhaps the unknown one too). 

As he was staring, attackers on the floor forgot, the most beautiful man in the universe, both known and not, looked at him. 

His expression was unreadable, like he was sizing Thaniel up, assessing, judging. He was scared at what he was going to find. 

Unable to deal with this, Thaniel resorted to the practical. The attackers were being dragged away by Jonesy’s men, out the building so there was no distraction to be found there. The crowd seemed to consider this cue to scarper as well, some outside, some to the bar, leaving the pair their ring and the space between them. The man was still looking at him but had not moved. Neither of them seemed to be injured apart from a couple of bruises but it seemed polite to double check.

“Are you alright?”

The other man did not reply but continued to look at him with unfathomable eyes. Carefully, he took Thaniel’s elbow. An elbow was not a particularly alluring part of the body and therefore someone touching it should  _ not  _ be making him blush. His hand was not crushing but was firm, suggesting an underlying strength. He gently pulled Thaniel forward stepping backward a few paces, until they were flush against each other. Thaniel couldn’t breathe.

There was a thud, sending shockwaves of piercing white light flashing across his vision. He jumped round to see a table from the balcony seating embedded in the dance floor, exactly where Thaniel had just been standing. He looked up, to see the crush of people wanting to watch the fight had forced the table through the flimsy barrier, and it had finally given in to gravity, nearly crushing him in the process. 

“I think that is our cue to leave,” the man noted. 

Thaniel found himself following him to the door, pausing to collect his coat and pay on the way out, as the man disappeared through the door. Jonesy said something to him, apologetic in tone, but he couldn’t hear the exact words, desperate to go and follow the mysterious man who’d just saved him. 

However, when he burst out the door, he was surprised to find the man was waiting for him. 

“Err… hi,” Thaniel said, off-guard. 

The man smiled. “Hello,” he offered his hand. “Keita Mori.” His voice was smooth, confident, golden. 

Thaniel took his hand, resisting the urge to hold on. “Thaniel. Thaniel Steepleton.” He winced at the sounds of his voice compared with Mori’s, the roughness of his accent that he hadn’t quite managed to shake. 

“I owe you a thank you Thaniel.” 

His stomach clenched strangely.  _ “Don’t say my name,”  _ he wanted to say. _ “Never stop saying my name,”  _ he wanted to say. 

“No worries,” he actually said. They began walking down the street, away from the buzz of the bar. They were quiet, but instead of an awkward tension, like when he and a colleague realised they had very few reference points, this was...pleasant. Comfortable. Like they were old friends who no longer needed to fill every silence. 

“They’ll ask you to come back next week, to make up for things,” Mori remarked. 

“Sorry?” Thaniel said, pulled out of his revive. 

Mori nodded back to the bar. “You should take it.”

“Why?” Thaniel didn’t know why he was fighting the concept of another gig, apart from a selfish, immodest part of him was genuinely curious how Mori would reply.

Mori went quiet again and Thaniel thought perhaps he hadn’t heard, or more likely, was trying to find a way out of this conversation with someone who was clearly an idiot. This made his actual reply even more of a surprise. 

“Because you play beautifully.”

Not well. Not proficiently.  _ Beautifully _ . Thaniel didn’t quite know how to respond and so manners kicked in. 

“Thank you.” It came out oddly formally, which Mori seemed to find amusing. They were headed to the end of the road, the decision of which way to turn looming. “Which way do you live?” Thane asked, desperately hoping he would say “Left”.

Mori nodded right, then frowned and glanced surreptitiously at Thaniel. The only reason he caught it was because he couldn’t keep himself from staring. He had a decision to make. 

Maybe it was the bubble that seemed to surround them, blocking the outside world from interrupting. Maybe it was the adrenaline of the earlier encounter. Maybe it was the drink. 

Mori smiled. 

He decided to be brave.

“Night cap?”

“I would love one,” Mori said, and they both turned left. As they walked and started talking, Thaniel discovered three things:

  1. Other than getting into bar brawls, Mori’s day job was a watchmaker, although his abilities expanded much further (“An octopus? Really?”) 
  2. His limited grasp of Japanese was apparently adorable, given the looks Mori gave him when he stumbled out a few phrases. This is not helped by the fact his knowledge was mainly regarding international trade deals; it must have resembled a six year old asking his opinions on the League of Nations 
  3. In the time it takes to walk from The Black Cat Club to his bedsit, it turned out you could emotionally invest in a mysterious stranger you met in a bar, a plot line which happened to be the crux of every pulp romance novel sold at the train station that Thaniel definitely didn’t read and _definitely_ didn’t have stashed under his bed. 



It was as they approached his rather sorry-excuse-for-a-lodging that he panicked. His brain simply refused to compute the idea of this mysterious, gorgeous man standing next to the window or sitting in the chair (the only two places to exist in his rooms beyond the bed which- no, not even thinking about it). He unlocked the door apologetically and led the way up the stairs, praying that they wouldn’t see anyone and have to do the awkward ‘press yourself against the wall’ thing, which might mean Mori would turn around and never be heard from again. 

The actual image of Mori in his room was even more absurd than he’d imagined, but luckily, the only light was from the singular bulb and that from the streetlights outside so most of the room was in shadow. Thaniel busied himself with getting glasses and the singular bottle of alcohol he had in the room, a bottle of whiskey he was given at Christmas from the office, which was probably worth more than all his other possessions put together. He turned to catch Mori look at the objects that had made it onto the singular shelf- a few books of musical compositions, a collection of shells he’d had since childhood, a photo of his sister and nephews. 

To avoid questions, he held out the drink and Mori accepted it with a nod of thanks. He didn’t know what to say now, so waited for Mori to speak, sipping his drink. It was not an answer he was going to get. 

“So how does a clerk for the Foreign Office end up in a bar fight?”

Thaniel choked slightly on the sip he’d just taken. They ended up talking again, Thaniel jumping over his childhood, to talk about his work and music, about how he came to be in the bar, and how he knew how to fight back. Mori was leaning against the tiny table, Thaniel on the chest of drawers, a highly appropriate distance between them which was tormenting Thaniel.

To distract himself, he asked the question he’d been considering since the bar. “You knew the table was going to fall.”

If he hadn’t been looking, he wouldn’t have seen the sudden tension in Mori’s shoulders before he relaxed and shrugged. “I could see it happening.”

“You weren’t looking at the table.” He hadn’t meant to be so forward. Or accusatory. 

Mori paused, tilting his head to one side. Deliberating.

Finally he replied. “No. I wasn’t.” 

It was a challenge. Thaniel took the bait. 

“You were looking at me.” He said this while looking at his own shoes, glancing up at Mori through his lashes. 

Mo-  _ Keita  _ was smiling now. “Yes.”

“Why?” Thaniel asked. 

Keita simply raised an eyebrow. “Why were  _ you  _ looking at  _ me _ ?” Fair question. 

It was Thaniel’s turn to deliberate. It was a risk. Then again, the entire night had been a risk. 

_ Oh fuck it _ , he thought and stepped forward. Once again, Keita anticipated his movements and stepped forward too, and the room being the size of a medium shoe-box, they were suddenly very, very close. . 

And then Keita touched his elbow again. He breathed out. He felt calm. Grounded. 

Thaniel leaned in and kissed him, gently, as if pressing too hard would mean Keita would disappear. Keita apparently had no such worries and pulled him back for a more forceful kiss, bringing a hand up to Thaniel’s hair to direct him down.

He sighed into the kiss, as he happily ceded control, even though the position was slightly awkward. They stayed locked together for a while, before Thaniel’s spine protested. He took two steps back, coaxing Keita forward, and hitting the bed. As he sat down, Keita followed, straddling his hips, not letting their lips disconnect. Thaniel whimpered at the sensation of Keita on top of him. . 

Despite the fact they’re both still fully clothed, despite the fact they’ve barely started, he suddenly feels on edge. They both need to be undressed. Right now. 

This was easier said than done. He would curse every bastion of modern fashion till the day he died. Why the fuck did they insist everyone wear so many fucking layers? After a few attempts which only reached the taking off shoes and waistcoats stage, Keita pushed him back and stood up, and he suddenly felt cold without the warmth of Keita’s body. This is rectified however when he realises what was happening. 

Keita pulled off his shirt and vest in one go over his head, not taking his eyes off Thaniel, and then began on his trousers. Thaniel stared, mesmerised at each inch of body was revealed. He was breathtaking. 

Then he moved forwards again, standing between Thaniel’s legs, and began undressing him, slowly, carefully, tracing his fingers across his body. Shirt and vest first, a slow, sensuous kiss, and then he moved on to his trousers. 

Undressed, they fell back together and it was  _ glorious _ . Thaniel allowed himself over to the sensation: being allowed to touch, kiss, taste, all while trying to keep quiet due to the paper thin walls. Their breaths came in pants, sweat slicking their skin as they entwined themselves. He unraveled with Keita’s name falling from his lips. 

They lay sprawled on the bed. It was too small, so instead of laying comfortably side by side, they sprawled across each other, Thaniel with his head on Keita’s chest. An indeterminate length of time passed, as their breathing returned to normal and Thaniel watched at the condensation on the window, mind hazy, unable to focus on one thing for long. 

“Thaniel?”

“Yes?” he said lazily, enjoying the feeling of Keita stroking his hair. 

“Can I confess something?” 

He tensed. There was always something. Why was there always fucking something? His fears were confirmed when the hair stroking stopped. Keita leaned over the edge of the bed and there was the sound of clothes moving. He then produced a wallet from his pocket, turning it round in his hands. He then handed it to Thaniel. Confused, he looked over at him, and then opened the wallet. It was scruffier than he would expect from Keita, with bits of paper everywhere. He was confused, until he noticed something. None of the documents had Keita’s name on, but were instead addressed to a Brian Calloway. Something clicked. 

“You  _ did  _ steal his wallet,” Thaniel said, in awe of the audacity. 

Keita simply shrugged, playfully, taking it back from him. “It is in everyone’s best interest that the gentleman doesn't have this tonight.” He threw it back on the floor. 

Thaniel should be horrified. He had been in a fight to defend a man who had actually committed the crime he’d been accused of. But if Keita hadn’t taken it, then there’d have been no fight, and no fight meant no meeting, and no meeting meant no Keita in his bed right now, resuming his duties of hair stroking. 

“I’m glad you stole it. I’m-” he said, cutting off the next sentence. He received a raised eyebrow but then Keita’s eyes softened, like he could guess the ending. Thaniel looked down at the threadbare blanket, suddenly shy. 

“I’m happy we met as well,” Keita said, carefully taking Thaniel’s hand that was playing with the corner of the blanket, and kissing his palm. 

He then leaned in, pressing kisses on his forehead, eyelids, and finally lips. Thaniel melted, any embarrassment lifting. Later, as he fell asleep tucked up against Keita in a bed that was far too small, he felt a strange feeling overcome him. It took a while to realise that he felt content. Safe and warm and happy. 

He didn’t think about the chaos of the day and the new lack of clarity over the future, didn’t think about what any of this would mean,  _ if  _ it would mean anything, because if he did, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything but stare at the ceiling and panic until Keita awoke. 

This one night, this one man was going to change the course of his entire life.

He just didn’t realise it yet. 


End file.
